


Dayākara

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Challenge: teambaahubali, Character Study, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: Even the fruit of the poisoned tree can, at times, taste sweet.(Five times Bijjaladeva was kind to Amarendra Baahubali, and one time he was not.)





	Dayākara

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the lovely @teammahishmati group, who offered up the prompt of: _five times Bijjaladeva was kind to Baahubali, and one time he was not._ (Yes, I took that and made it horrible.)
> 
> Warning for Bijjaladeva not being a very nice person, including implied emotional abuse and threats against an infant's life.

**1.**

Even a prince, orphaned not days prior, requires a father to bestow a name upon him--and in his absence, an obliging grandfather or uncle. Bijjaladeva knows this. It is not enough to keep him from finding the entire ceremony that follows tedious and unnecessary. Had not his interfering wife taken it upon herself to dub the infant  _ Baahubali _ before his mother’s body had cooled? Mahishmati has its true heir, no matter what Sivagami might claim, and Bijjaladeva sees no need to bestir himself. 

But even he is helpless before the Queen Mother, and his Bhallaladeva is taken from his arms as he is herded before the sacred fire; his boy is replaced with another, Bhalla’s strong features traded for this eerily silent child. To add insult to injury, the royal dog hovers about Bijjaladeva, as though frightened he might drop the infant or otherwise cause him harm--as though Bijjaladeva would be anything so crude! He is cleverer than that, even if Kattappa lacks wit and imagination to perceive it.

The royal priests look expectantly at Bijjaladeva, and reluctantly he bends closer to the baby’s crumpled ear.  _ Baahubali _ , he is meant to whisper, an obedient parrot of his wife’s wishes; but suddenly, perversely, he remembers the news his spies had brought him about the dead Queen of Mahishmati’s hopes for her son, the name he would bear to his throne. 

No one would believe it of him, but: he had  _ liked  _ his sister-in-law, as much as he might be capable of liking anyone in his worthless family. To be sure, she was ruthless and arrogant and would have gladly sacrificed him for her own ambitions; but so too would he, and at least she had the cleverness to see there were things that mattered more in this world than justice and duty. That had died with her, along with all that she had been; everyone else might have conveniently forgotten the name she had intended for her son in favor of the Queen Mother’s choice, but Bijjaladeva will not. May the boy have that much of her, if not her tenacity and pragmatism. He would need it, to survive what was to come. 

“Amarendra Baahubali,” Bijjaladeva hisses, and Sivagami beside him frowns. 

**2.**

His brother’s brat is blubbering. 

Oh, not where anyone else might easily overhear him—royal pride runs too strong in their bloodline for that—but softly, in the shadows of the palace garden. Bijjaladeva might make more of it if he didn’t know exactly what had led to it; the palace gossips have spoken of little else this afternoon. Prince Baahubali has proved himself more than his so-called mother’s pet, the servants murmur: they say young Uday’s arm was broken in three places from a single ill-considered wrestling match. Bijjaladeva had known nothing but relief when the awareness of his unnatural strength had come upon him, reassured that even should his father’s dislike or mother’s disinterest should turn to something more lethal, he should be able to defend himself. 

A hiccup, and the sobs stop suddenly. Bijjaladeva’s presence is no longer secret, it seems; he considers a retreat, to avoid any unpleasantness, but the brat is too quick for him, scrambling down from a tree to peer miserably at him. 

Bijjaladeva sighs. “There’s no need to make such a fuss,” he reminds the boy. “So it is with all born to our family; you’re hardly the first.”

The response--clever as always--is a plaintive: “But I hurt Uday! I didn’t mean to, but he put his arm up too soon, and I--he’s hurt, because of me.”

Is the boy deaf? “You’re hardly the first,” Bijjaladeva repeats. If he’d a coin for every wall, or table, or slave he’d damaged without intending it, his wife need no longer bleat about Mahishmati’s depleted treasury. “In time you’ll learn to control yourself.”

The brat, though, is several exchanges behind in this conversation. “All in our family?” he asks. “My father was strong? Just as I am?”

_ Your father was weak _ , Bijjaladeva wants to snarl in response,  _ so much so I could not bear it, nor could you _ . But that is not what the boy means, and besides, to explain would require him to spend even more time in the brat’s presence. He closes his eyes. He does not think of Vikramadeva at such an age, hand in hand with their parents, unthinkingly, effortlessly, eternally happy-- 

“He was,” Bijjaladeva bites off. He leaves the boy behind in the gardens, alone. 

**3.**

Enough to know Baahubali will be King after all, and Bhalla nothing more than a servant to the crown; must Sivagami compound his misery by organizing a thousand festivals and  _ pujas _ for ensure the future King’s long life? Every day a new reminder of his failure, and drink can only so much to dull his senses against it. 

Today’s chosen torment is a visit to the great stone temple beyond the city walls. Within Mahishmati, the Great God is worshipped alone; and upon the battlefield, His fearsome consort; but only in the refuge of the forests does He appear with his family. To offer prayers there, Sivagami drones on, for what must be the twentieth time, is to ensure peace and prosperity for any clan--but only if all members participate. 

Bah. Bijjaladeva’s head throbs, and his mouth is already sour with wine. The thought of undergoing all the necessary cleansing and chariot-riding to accomplish such a thing seems impossible. Besides, what does the Queen Mother want with him, after all? The world knows she needs nothing but the loyal dog sniffing at her heels and the sons she treasures--and one more than the other, that’s true….

“Very well,” Sivagami says with dignity, clearly choosing to ignore his last few words. “I’ve the children to accompany me, if you will not.”

Baahubali brightens, naturally, and Bhalla bows his head in silent resignation--but what’s the use now in forcing Bhalla to curry favor with his mother? Years and years, Bijjaladeva had set him to it, trying to wring love out of Sivagami’s stone heart, and all to no effect. Baahubali was King-to-be nonetheless, and Sivagami had declared her partiality and prejudices by allotting him the throne when Bhalla had won it fairly. 

“Our son,” Bijjaladeva sneers, “ _ my  _ son, stays with me.”

Bhalla looks surprised to hear his father’s protest, but does not protest, not even when Sivagami’s chariot rattles away, driven by Baahubali--fool!-- himself in his enthusiasm. 

Let him suffer through an afternoon of ceremonies with no company but the Queen Mother, if he still callow enough to care for her; and let Bhalla be spared the pain of aching for a parent to love him.

Bijjaladeva has suffered enough on that account for them both. 

**4.**

How Baahubali blunders, as reliably as the sun does rise: and with every new mistake, an opportunity to see Bhalla safe at last. 

This most recent slip might be the worst of all. Already Bijjaladeva’s mind buzzes with how to turn this newest announcement to Baahubali’s disadvantage, at least once it reaches Sivagami’s ears. Perhaps  _ The King not yet wed, and already his brother fathers a child _ ; or,  _ How our rebellious nobles will flout us, once they realize there is a new heir to the throne _ ; or,  _ You raised him so lovingly from his birth, and still you were not the first he told of his news? Wife, you surprise me.  _

That last one, Bijjaladeva thinks with bright malice, will do nicely. 

He adjusts his shawl about his shoulders, eager now that he has settled upon a course of action to see it complete, but quite unbidden, he recalls the instant, years previous, he had been told of his own wife’s pregnancy. Truthfully he had not yet learned to love the child--how could he, when he had no warning yet of what Bhalla would come to mean to him?--but still his chest had swelled with satisfaction, the air about him smelled sweeter. At last the merchant’s wife he’d married had produced something worthwhile, years though it had taken to see it. 

He thinks of Baahubali, younger than he had been, but no less able to be transformed by joy; so long as he lives--and the Great God grant it should be short!--he will not forget this night. Fools know love as surely as the wise; fathers are not so different from one another. 

There’s a rare vintage from the mountains, too, that Bijjaladeva has been meaning to indulge in, and Sivagami will make such a fuss if he comes to her in his cups. The news will keep, and Sivagami is sure to be no less angry tomorrow as she will be tonight. 

He lowers himself back into his chair, and prays Bhalla will forgive him.

**5.**

“And?” As he faces his son, Bijjaladeva’s voice shakes. “What did you do with-- _ him _ ?”

“The body?” They might speak of nothing significant than the price of silk, given how unconcerned Bhalla sounds. “Once I’d finished with it, I left it where it was. I imagine the jackals will take it, with time.”

That may be so, and certainly what is due a common man who’d fallen in an unfortunate and unexpected Kalakeya attack, but: Bijjaladeva had always seen those dead by his machinations given a holy memorial at least, their spirits free to rejoin the gods. His son ought to do no different. 

When he speaks, Bijjaladeva says instead: “Reckless, I imagine. You know how superstitious these villagers are. If there’s a body left behind, rumors will spread by sunset of how Baahubali’s restless ghost walks among them--or worse, that he’d survived after all and been nursed back to health. Give them even that much hope, and they will never let you into their hearts.”

Bhalla sighs, running his hand over his face impatiently. “Then?”

“Burn him,” Bijjaladeva says simply. “Spread his ashes across the streets of Mahishmati, so that none might recover them--or him.”

A more sentimental man might have said instead _ , laid to rest in the city he had loved _ . Bijjaladeva can only be grateful he is nothing so soft, and Bhalla growls his assent. 

**& 1.**

A newborn baby can be trusted not to make mischief, and even the most devoted of nursemaids must sleep eventually. This is how Bijjaladeva finds himself able to steal into the room where his nephew slumbers, alone and unprotected. In part it is curiosity that brings him there; Sivagami has spoken at length about the infant’s extraordinary strength, and yet Bijjaladeva is taken aback to confirm it for himself.

In part he comes with a darker purpose in mind. However strong the child might, Bijjaladeva is stronger. How like his wife to forget that, as she forgets--so easily!--everything that might do him credit. With a hand, a pillow, he might seal Bhalla’s fate, and this Baahubali’s. Bijjaladeva might even make it painless for the boy; rather than suffering a life spent as orphan contender for the throne, he might be reunited with the parents who had left him behind. Do not the scriptures claim that a human existence is the worst of fates? It would be a kindness, really, to act now.

And yet. Bijjaladeva remembers his sharp-faced sister-in-law, his slow-witted brother, his mother and father who should be so satisfied to see their worst predictions about their elder son’s wickedness fulfilled; he thinks of his shrew of a wife, and the maddening slave who followed her, who surely would know with their uncanny wisdom what he had done, and his only son, who would suffer for it. 

The baby gurgles, and opens black eyes to watch him, and Bijjaladeva’s healthy arm feels as weak as his withered one. 

“As you wish,” he spits, retreating, hating the child all the more for what it has revealed about itself--and him. Let his brother’s brat survive only to suffer more. Bijjaladeva never shows mercy more than once. 

**Author's Note:**

> *dayākara- (Sanskrit) showing pity. 
> 
> * There's no actual indication as to where the _Amarendra_ part of Baahubali's name came from, but i am partial to it being from his birth mother, especially given how different it is from the naming patterns of Mahishmati (in the Telugu version). As paternal uncle, Bijjaladeva would probably have been the one to "officially" name Amarendra, going by traditional Hindu ritual. 
> 
> * Section 3 is, of course, set during "Saahore Baahubali"--I always wondered where and why Sivagami and Amarendra were going on their mother-son field trip and leaving the rest of the family behind! 
> 
> * Technically speaking, the fate of Amarendra's body is not specified in canon, outside of quasi-canon from a deleted scene that we know of through report. So....in my mind, that means it's up for headcanons. 
> 
> * This goes without saying, but under no circumstances does the authorship endorse any of the terrible, terrible things Bijjaladeva says or does. Anything that seems as though it is meant to have horrible implications probably does. This is what comes of prompting about my least favorite character.


End file.
